


Blinded Love

by Johnnlocked (Krullenbol2602)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blind Character, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Scars, Season/Series 04, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8847193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krullenbol2602/pseuds/Johnnlocked
Summary: John helps Sherlock to shave.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was inspired by [this](http://johnnlocked.tumblr.com/post/154461481196/consultingeastwind-busybiscute) post. Be warned: may contain Setlock and Series 4 spoilers.

“Sherlock, do you…”

He’s licking his lips. Sherlock can hear it. John is fidgeting in his seat, uncertain, thinking his words over. Oh for God’s sake, there is no need for his eyes when it comes to John’s worrying.

“Spit it out, John.”

“Do you need a hand shaving?”

Oh. That was not - Sherlock blinks, his vision still dark, but he can see John’s face so clearly. He can imagine the tentative smile, the warmth and uncertainty in those blue eyes. For even a moment, Sherlock can picture John’s hands and fingers perfectly. To have them, against his skin…

“Shave…”

“You look horrible, Sherlock. No offence.”

“None taken.”

Sherlock raises his hand to his cheek, feeling the stubble there and he has to admit it; it feels dreadful. And who else but John does he trust with this? He nods and Sherlock can hear the smile on John’s exhale. It’s peculiar, how easy he managed to tune his hearing to John. Or perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps nothing has ever been more obvious.

John moves to the bathroom first and Sherlock follows the sound of the running water.

“There is a seat in front of the sink,” John says when Sherlock enters the bathroom.

“Do you - ”

“I’ll manage, John.” He does, eventually, after nearly crashing to the floor because he sat down too close to the edge. John doesn’t comment on it.

‘’Your shirt, Sherlock.’’

His shirt. His back. Stupid! Idiotic! He should have thought this through. John can’t see… it never was his intention for John to know. He can’t –

‘’Sherlock?’’

Sherlock hears the frown and he sighs. He can’t back down now not without causing even more questions. John will know he has more to hide, he’ll get angry, he’ll leave and –

‘’Hey, calm down. Breathe, Sherlock.’’

John sounds closer now – on his knees, in front of me, his hand on my knee, comforting, I’m… oh. Sherlock breathes, deeply, and John’s hand tightens slightly. ‘’That’s it. You okay?’’

‘’Fine,’’ Sherlock mutters on an exhale, but he knows John won’t believe him.

‘’If it’s about the shaving, I – ‘’

‘’No, John. I – ‘’ Sherlock swallows down the panic rising in his throat. He has no choice. ‘’There is something you should know before… My back is… when I was away, I was…’’

John doesn’t say anything, but Sherlock can feel his hand moving to the buttons of his shirt, hovering, waiting for permission. He doesn’t know why John is not asking him, he can’t read him like this and Sherlock fights down the urge to reach out and touch his face, just to be able to feel what he’s thinking. This is infuriating!

This is terrifying.

‘’John?’’

Still nothing. Although… Sherlock can hear it now, the ragged quality of John’s breath, deep, controlled. Sherlock finds himself trying to match it before nodding.

John’s fingers are trembling as he undoes the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt and Sherlock clenches his own hands on his lap. He tries to steel himself for John’s anger. He tries to prepare for the questions, the accusations, the guilt. John moves to stand behind Sherlock. He feels his shirt slide off his shoulders and he tenses.

This is it.

John will –

Wait.

What is he –

Sherlock hears the sharp intake of breath before he feels John’s fingers tracing the worst of the scars. Another inhale. Another. Not a word. Nothing. He dares not to ask anything when he feels a towel being wrapped around his neck. Even though he can’t see, Sherlock looks down, just so John doesn’t have to look at him when he moves back in front of him. Not a word is spoken as John presses the blade against Sherlock’s cheek.

Never before has Sherlock felt more insecure. Without any visual input, and with John very carefully controlling his breathing, there is no way of knowing what John is thinking. Is he angry? Upset? Both?

He wants to scream, demand John to say something, anything, just to break the silence. But John keeps shaving him, silently.

It isn’t until the last of the stubble has been removed and John applies the aftershave he knows Sherlock favours, that Sherlock breaks. With John’s face so close, he reaches out, clasping John’s cheeks in his hands. He freezes.

Wet.

Why is John’s face wet? What –

‘’Sherlock…’’

Oh. John’s voice sounds broken, hurt. It trembles. Wet. Tears.

John is crying!

‘’You hid this from me… all that time,’’ John doesn’t pull away from Sherlock’s hands and Sherlock let himself trace the lines of John’s face. He feels a sharp pain in his chest when another tear catches on his finger. John isn’t supposed to cry. Never again. He made that promise to himself.

‘’John…’’

‘’No, shut up, Sherlock,’’ John snaps and Sherlock listens. ‘’You hid this. You were hurt and you hid it from me. For God’s sake, Sherlock, some of these… when?’’

Oh no. This is wrong. John can’t know.

‘’John…’’

‘’Tell me when!’’

Sherlock swallows. ‘’Serbia. Before… before I came back.’’

The feeling of John’s arms wrapping around him surprises him. John pressed himself close, his head buried against Sherlock’s shoulder, his hands once against on Sherlock’s back. ‘’I tackled you… and you let me.’’

‘’You were angry, rightly so, and I – ‘’

‘’You stupid idiot. You absolute cock. Never again, you hear me. You can never allow me to hurt you again. Sherlock… you deserve better.’’

Sherlock doesn’t say anything. How could he? Because he knows, no matter how selfish he might have been in the past, ever since John limped into his life… there was no pain Sherlock would not endure for John Watson. There was nothing his body, his mind, his soul, his heart, would not endure for John Watson. How could he tell John that every single day without him killed him? How could he tell John that the mere sight of that golden band on his fingers tore his heart apart. There was no line John would be able to cross; Sherlock was already lost and broken for him. Sherlock already loved.

Love hurt.

And Sherlock was alright with that.

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I could be genuinely sorry, but I'm not! Suffer with me!


End file.
